


nothing hurts

by tgtchm



Category: The Grand Tour (TV) RPF, Top Gear (UK) RPF
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-29
Updated: 2017-10-29
Packaged: 2019-01-25 23:16:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12543456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tgtchm/pseuds/tgtchm
Summary: Every year at Christmas, James and Jeremy play one of their games. But something is different this year...





	nothing hurts

**Author's Note:**

> This one stumped me lmao. At first I thought it wasn't even mine because I had NO MEMORY at all of writing it, but then I was like 'mev why tf would you have someone else's fic in your google docs' (that I also didn't publish on ao3). So I did some digging and found it! This was another secret santa present. I don't remember why I wrote two, but there ya go. It was published on December 23rd, 2015.
> 
> prompt: A seasonal 'worst present ever' competition.

Of all the games that James and Jeremy play, Jeremy’s favourite, by far, is their Annual Rubbish Gift Giving Competition. It’s been a fixture for years now, and every year around Christmas time he has to start racking his brains for a brilliant but utterly awful gift. In the past, he’s given James a ‘knit your own ugly christmas jumper’ kit; a little box that, when you flick a switch, does nothing but turn itself off again; and a hole punch that only punches out guitar picks (“Jeremy, I don’t even play the guitar,” “I know”). He’s received a wine glass that holds an entire bottle of wine (“For your rosé,” James’d said, eyes twinkling), a garlic container shaped like a bulb of garlic, and last year he’d got a ‘diet spoon’—a spoon with a hole cut in the middle. If that wasn’t a message to lose weight he didn’t know what was.

Despite the chaos they’d weathered this year, the game was still on, and he’d managed to find a suitably rubbish gift—a money box shaped like a face that took coins through the mouth. It was very odd, very eclectic, and very, very James. Now the fun part: waiting for James to give him his gift.

“You could have participated this year, you know,” James says, turning in his seat to look at Richard, setting his pint down on the table.

Richard rolls his eyes. He’s had more to drink than the other two, and it’s written all over his face. “Why? I already have enough tat lurking around my house, I don’t need you two adding to it— _more_ than you already have,” he finishes grumpily.

James turns to Jeremy and smiles broadly, face flushed. “That’s the fun of it! Everything’s rubbish.”

They’re in James’ local, and it’s absurdly quiet. Perhaps because it’s two days from Christmas, and everyone’s out doing last minute shopping. They’ve come here to unwind before they each spend Christmas with—well. Jeremy’ll be spending Christmas alone this year, and he hasn’t really come to terms with that. Everytime he tries to, his brain shies away, unable or unwilling to process the fact that he is desperately lonely.

Richard, as if reading his mind, blinks at him. “My offer still stands, by the way. Mindy’d be happy to have you.”

Jeremy shakes his head. “You told me that she’d put _you_ in charge of cooking the roast. I’d rather not spend my Christmas trying to gnaw through the most overcooked roast the world has ever seen,” he replies dryly.

While Christmas with the Hammond family _would_ be better than spending it alone, watching Richard and Mindy be so happy and complete together would just hammer home the point that he doesn’t have that anymore with anyone. He spots James watching him shrewdly from across the table and looks down at his glass of rose, ignoring the churning in his stomach.

Richard, oblivious to Jeremy’s thoughts, starts on a tangent about segments for next year, still fully in work mode. It’s easy to tune out, to sit back in the booth and let his mind wander.

“Jeremy,” James says, snapping him out of his reverie.

“Mmm?” he replies, taking a sip of his wine, watching James.

Putting his empty glass down on the table, James nods at him. “I’ll see you tomorrow, alright?” he says, quietly. They’ve started to spend Christmas eve round at each others’, where they usually watch a film, have a beer or two, and generally enjoy each other’s company—as well as swap presents.

Jeremy nods back and stares into his wine, unable to shake the feeling of melancholy that surrounds him tonight.

***

“James!” he booms, opening the door the next afternoon to see his colleague standing on his doorstep, bundled up in a heavy winter coat, scarf wrapped around his face.

“Let me in, Jeremy, it’s bloody freezing,” James replies irritably, stomping his feet on the mat as he goes past Jeremy, unwinding the scarf from around his neck, shaking his hair, which is wet from the rain.

Jeremy watches bemusedly. “Yes, James, just waltz right in like you own the place.”

James, shrugging off his coat and hanging it neatly on Jeremy’s coat rack, bends down to start untying his shoes, glancing back over his shoulder as he does so. “You do me the same courtesy round at mine, except you just leave your clothes where you drop them.” Realising how that sounds at the same time Jeremy does, he reddens and continues hastily. “In winter, that is.”

Watching for a few more seconds as James lines his shoes up neatly, Jeremy shrugs and turns away. “That’s because I know it irritates you so,” he calls back over his shoulder as he sticks the kettle under the faucet.

“Right,” James replies dryly, suddenly very close, and Jeremy jumps in fright, banging his head on the cabinet above his head as he does so, making James bark with laughter.

“Fuck off, May,” he grumbles, rubbing his head, wincing. “I’m going to have a lump there now.”

James’ arm closes around his bicep and tugs him away from the kettle, pushes him down into a chair. “Let me have a look,” James says measuredly, standing over him.

Frowning, Jeremy obliges, tipping his head forward so James can poke through his hair—well, what’s left of it—and feel the tender lump that’s just beginning to form. James’ fingers comb through his curls, and it feels so nice that for a second he forgets who the fingers belong to, and relaxes into the touch. It’s embarrassing, but he hasn’t been touched properly—more than a perfunctory hug or slap on the back here and there—in months, and he doesn’t realise until now how much he’s missed it. It feels so lovely to just relax, and James’ fingers are so nimble—

All of a sudden, he remembers that it is indeed James’ hand stroking across his head, and jerks back clumsily. James retreats, too, his hand snapping back to his side, eyes filled with an emotion that Jeremy can’t specify. They regard each other for a moment, both on the verge of saying something, but Jeremy gets up and starts pouring the tea, breaking the silence.

“Did you have trouble finding something this year?” he asks lightly, trying to ignore the way James’ hands ghosting through his hair has made him feel, all churned up inside.

James doesn’t reply for a moment, and Jeremy wonders if he’s feeling the same, too. “In some ways,” he replies mysteriously, taking the proffered cup from Jeremy.

“Right,” Jeremy replies, slightly puzzled.

They sip their tea in silence for a moment before Jeremy, sick of the odd atmosphere that has penetrated their usually easy friendship, heads into the lounge room where he’s stashed James’ present, hidden behind an armchair. He flops down onto the sofa and flicks on the telly, clicking through channels quickly. “Fancy a film? It’ll all be Christmas stuff, though.”

A ghost of a smile dances over James’ face as he sits, nursing his tea. “What about _Die Hard_? I know you like that one.”

“Because it’s the best Christmas film ever made!” Jeremy responds animatedly.

“Just because a film is set at Christmas doesn’t make it a Christmas film,” James replies, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes, it does! It’s set at Christmas, so that makes it a Christmas film. That’s how it works,” he shoots back, still flicking furiously through the channels until he comes across Dave. “Oh, look. It’s us.”

James blinks at the telly, before laughing. “I do love this episode. Leave it on.”

They sit in silence for a while, just watching the episode. He doesn’t know about James, but it certainly makes him feel a little bit sad to watch their legacy resigned to a life of reruns. Even if they are making something new, it’s not the same, is it? Even as he watches Richard’s BMW refuse to start, smirking at the memory of Richard swearing like a sailor at it—that little outburst had, thankfully, been cut—it stings a little bit. Nearly a year, and it’s still fresh.

“I’m going to miss that theme music,” James says quietly once the episode is over, staring down at his hands, his hair—which is getting long again—falling in a curtain around his face.

Jeremy sighs and stretches his legs out in front of him. “I didn’t even think about that. We’ll have to get something new.”

They sit in silence for a moment, thoughts drifting back to the past, to things now gone. He finds himself absentmindedly regarding James, the way he’s got a hint of stubble starting to grow, how his hair looks gold under the light.

“Alright, then,” James says, turning to look at him, smiling. “What’d you get me? Something absolutely rubbish?”

Jeremy shakes his head. “You always go first. Tradition.”

Something dark flits over James’ face, too fast for Jeremy to get a read on. “I think we’ve broken enough rules this year. You go first.”

“No,” he snaps back, crossing his arms against his chest, sticking his nose in the air stubbornly. “You go first.” Upon seeing James’ reluctance, he adds, “I could sit here all evening.”

James draws himself up and shrugs, reluctance seemingly melting away. “Right.”

Jeremy doesn’t know where his present is—it must be pretty small, as James hasn’t carried anything in with him, at least not that he could see. But James doesn’t reach for his pockets. Instead, he shifts closer on the sofa, getting in Jeremy’s personal space, so close that their knees are touching.

“James?” Jeremy hears himself ask faintly.

James doesn’t reply, only leans forward and presses a kiss to his lips, hand coming up to rest on the back of Jeremy’s neck. On autopilot, Jeremy kisses him back despite himself, unable to resist the temptation of James’ lips moving against his—but James pulls away, breathing heavily.

“Merry Christmas, Jeremy,” he mutters, and turns to leave, leaving Jeremy sitting on his sofa, hand touching his lips, unsure of what just happened.

***

Thanks to James’ present from two years ago, Jeremy is able to down a bottle of wine and justify it as being one glass. Once he’s sufficiently drunk, he flicks on a war film and sits back on the sofa, letting his mind wander.

So James’ kiss had been his rubbish present of the year, then. He lets that thought sink in, wind its way through his bloodstream, take up residence in his heart. Perhaps it’s just the wine, but that thought doesn’t disgust him as much as it should—and it really should. After all, this is James he’s thinking about. James, his colleague of over a decade. James, the same man who went to the north pole with him, moaning and complaining the whole way. James, who is most definitely a _man_ , with stubble and a bit of a gut and a cock—

No, he isn’t as repulsed as he should be. In fact, he’s not repulsed at all. He wants to feel James’ fingers running through his hair again, wants even, perhaps, to kiss James again, feel James’ lips moving against his—

He shakes his head and stops himself. This isn’t right, it’s not normal. He _can’t_ like James like that. Perhaps this is his absolute loneliness manifesting itself in a new and very odd way; perhaps it’s the result of all the shit they’ve been through this year. Or perhaps this is the start of something new, something he didn’t realise he wanted until it was placed in front of him. The alcohol is swimming through his veins, making the room tip and swirl in front of his eyes, making his whole world tip on its head. Possibly it’s James doing that, even though he’s been gone for hours; he doesn’t know anymore, and he doesn’t care.

Reaching for his phone, he dials in a number, and waits.

***

“Jeremy?” James asks quietly, seemingly only slightly surprised to find Jeremy leaning heavily on his front door.

It’s still Christmas Eve, although a fair bit later than it was when James’ left. He hasn’t looked at a clock in a while, but knows it’s probably around ten or later, and he’s still a bit tipsy. He’d debated whether to ask the taxi driver to turn around probably about eight times, but he’s here now, freezing his bollocks off as he had forgotten his coat.

“James,” Jeremy says, trying to act as sober as he possibly can. “Let me in, it’s cold.”

Warily, James steps aside, watching with an odd expression on his face as Jeremy peels off his jumper, dropping it where he stands, stepping out of his shoes and shuffling into the lounge room, not bothering to organise his clothing despite knowing how much it irritates James.

“Snap,” he mumbles, seeing a war film just like the one he was watching on James’ telly, a pint of beer languishing on the coffee table. He peers into the dining room, surprised to see no proper remnants of a Christmas dinner; it seems James is alone this Christmas, too.

“Jeremy, what are you doing here?” James asks, coming up behind him, arms folded.

He doesn’t know, not really. He knows that it’s probably the alcohol making him do this, but there’s also quite a big part of him that has awakened, that realises that perhaps he’s wanted this for a long time.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were alone?” he asks, nodding towards the lone plate, which is being licked at by the cat.

James shrugs, caught off balance by Jeremy’s question. “I… I didn’t know if you’d want to spend Christmas Eve with me,” he confesses, looking up at Jeremy, face open and earnest.

“Stupid man,” Jeremy says, pulling James in for an impromptu hug, not caring about James’ aversion to contact. “‘Course I would. You’re my best mate.” He pulls back, staring down into James face.

“What are you doing here?” James asks again, looking at Jeremy evenly.

It’s then that Jeremy realises how close they are, how James’ hair is falling into his eyes, how his lips are right there—moving slowly, like he’s in a dream, he reaches up and brushes James’ hair away, watching James’ eyes widen.

“Came to give you your present,” he mumbles, leaning down to kiss James.

This is different. The kiss before was a chaste press of lips, but this is open, passionate; James tastes of beer and cigarettes and the promise of something new, and it’s the sweetest thing Jeremy’s ever tasted. He slides a hand into James’ hair, winding it around his fingers, feeling truly alive.

James pulls back abruptly, skepticism written all over his face. “As nice as this is… I… Jeremy, what are you doing?”

“I told you. Giving you your present.” He shrugs, not moving from the embrace.

James smiles, hesitantly reaching out and touching Jeremy on the face gently. “Are you sure you’re not just drunk?”

“That too. But you’re the one who gave me this idea, not the wine,” he admits, leaning into the touch, looking down at the cat, winding around his feet.

James smiles happily for a moment, before realisation passes over his features and he frowns. “Wait a moment. Does this mean you didn’t get me anything for Christmas?”

Indignantly, Jeremy gestures to himself in a sweeping motion. “What, am I not a good enough gift for you?”

James blinks. “But you’re not rubbish,” he mumbles.

Jeremy’s heart swells at that, and he reaches for James again, heart full of hope. As the rain pours down outside, as James’ lips find his, he lets happiness pour in, revelling in the feeling.


End file.
